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Now I want to assure you all, right here, that my father never did really know that Martin was an imposter. He began to suspect something at the end, but he didn't know for a fact. Martin went down to him at Scarhaven, just a week after the real Marston Greyle had died. He claimed to be Marston Greyle, he produced his papers. My father told about the Marston Greyle he'd buried.
Some months later, when Audrey Greyle had come into possession of Scarhaven, and had married Copplestone in the little church behind her mother's cottage, she and her husband, to satisfy a mutual and long-cherished desire, visited a certain romantic and retired part of the country.
"And since when has a Greyle of Scarhaven kept to a servant's orders?" interrupted Audrey, with a sneer that sent the blood rushing to the Squire's face. "Never! until this present régime, I should think. Orders, indeed! from an agent! I wonder what the last Squire of Scarhaven would have said to a proposition like that? Mr. Copplestone you've punished that bad old man quite sufficiently.
And Copplestone, out of good neighbourliness, stopped and spoke to him. "Mrs. Wooler tells me you're come here to pick up," he remarked. "Pretty strong air round this quarter of the globe!" "Oh, that's all right!" said the new arrival. "The air of Scarhaven will do me good it's full of just what I want." He gave Copplestone another look and then glanced at the letters which he held in his hand.
I made my husband give me a code message for the man in charge of the Pike, telling him to return at once to Scarhaven; I made my father write a note to Elkin at the bank, telling him to place the gold which I sent with it to the credit of the Greyle Estate. And when all that was done I got them away they're gone!"
Both were wondering, as they went, about the same thing the evident anxiety and mental uneasiness of Marston Greyle. Copplestone saw little of his bed that night. At seven o'clock in the evening came a telegram from Sir Cresswell Oliver, saying that he and Petherton were leaving at once, would reach Norcaster soon after midnight, and would motor out to Scarhaven immediately on arrival.
"Don't you think, Petherton, that we had better get a clear notion of our exact bearings?" he said as he laid it back on the solicitor's desk. "Seems to me that the time's come when we ought to know exactly where we are. As I understand it, the case is this rightly or wrongly we suspect the present holder of the Scarhaven estates.
To each of these three young people this was the most surprising moment which life had yet afforded. It was an astonishing thing to find a fellow mortal there at all, but to find that mortal was the Scarhaven estate agent was literally short of marvellous. What was also astounding was to see Chatfield's only too evident distress.
"Then," said Andrius, with a polite inclination of his head and shoulders to Audrey, "the truth is that everything of the Scarhaven property belongs to this lady?" "Everything!" exclaimed Vickers. "Land, houses, furniture, valuables everything.
Stafford was back at Scarhaven before breakfast time next morning, bringing with him a roll of copies of the Norcaster Daily Chronicle, one of which he immediately displayed to Copplestone and Mrs. Wooler, who met him at the inn door. He pointed with great pride to certain staring headlines. "I engineered that!" he exclaimed.
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